


Run Fast, Run Far

by LooNEY_DAC



Series: LooNEY_DAC's SSSS Could-Be-Canon Thingies [3]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:53:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8785654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooNEY_DAC/pseuds/LooNEY_DAC





	1. Eide and Seek

“Oof! Pardon me, please--Aksel?”

Sigrun’s eyes opened as a bulky man dressed against a Norwegian storm bumped into her. “Huh?” was all she could manage for a moment as her head wasn’t quite finished shimmying and swaying in giddy disorientation.

The man grabbed her by the shoulders to steady them both. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss. I thought you were a friend of mine, Aksel Eide. It’s the hair, you know.”

Sigrun didn’t reply. She was too busy trying to get her bearings. They were standing just inside the entryway of an Old Time building, but one that had been kept in good repair, and which was still filled with people; it was a type of feast hall, or some such eatery. But how had she come to be here, and where was here? There was something awfully familiar about this place, though...

“Gunnar!” The cheerful greeting came from a booth across the room. Said booth was occupied by a foursome who lounged in it as though claiming it as their personal booth.

Sigrun’s jaw dropped as she took a better look at each of their faces in turn. She knew those faces: their watchful gazes had looked down at her from the Dalsnes feast hall since she’d first been allowed to dine there. There was Aksel Eide, the ancestor the man who’d run into her had named a moment ago; Sigrun Larsen, for whom she was named, sat by him; across from them was Goran Andersen; and Ingrid Petersen was beside him.

How was this possible? Her mind rebelled against the reality it faced. They’d been in Denmark, in the Silent World, probing for books, days away from Dalsnes by sea! And looking quizzically back at her were her own noble forebears, gone back to dust these many decades!

Wait. She was by herself in this place--all the others were figures of the Old Times. Where were her crew-mates?


	2. Four More in Play

“Sir?” Someone was tugging ineffectually at his right arm, which sprawled leadenly across the countertop upon which he lay. “Sir, I must ask that--Oh, that’s it. Michael!”

Mikkel cracked open his eyes blearily. He hadn’t felt this bad since he’d accidentally stuck himself with a horse tranquilizer a few years back. He tried to remember what had occasioned this, to remind himself to avoid it in future, but it hurt less to just lie there like he was, so he did.

“What’s up, Signe?” Here was a male voice, laced with an odd blend of impatience, solicitude and weariness.

“Michael, you know I hate to ask customers for help, but,” the woman gestured demonstratively at Mikkel’s inert bulk. “Everyone else on staff would get a hernia just thinking about moving him, spineless little worms.” The man barely smothered a guffaw.

‘I’m perfectly all right and can move myself, thank you,’ was what Mikkel tried to say. What came out was more like, “Mllrllmeh. Ohmyhead,” slurred so badly Tuuri would never have understood it, let alone Emil.

Tuuri! Emil! The thought sparked thoughts of his other comrades. Where were they? Were they safe? A rush of adrenaline pushed his eyes open, but whatever he’d been dosed with, it was still too strong for him to move.

“Had a few too many, huh, friend?” Michael tried some patently false empathy.

“Drugged. Wher’mI?” Mikkel managed.

“You’re on the ferry from Bornholm to Copenhagen,” Signe said.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

The Most Annoying Ringtone Ever (TM) belted out from one of Mikkel’s clenched hands. He looked at it in still-bleary confusion.

*

The room was quietly bustling with waitstaff and buspeople attending their duties, customers chatting at their tables, and others waiting to be seated. Tuuri blinked at how suddenly the change had happened. Wait--change from what? Tuuri couldn’t quite remember, yet.

“Miss? Miss! Can I help you?” Tuuri blinked again at the soft pseudo-cheerful question. She was sitting in one of the main room’s many booths, and a woman who looked oddly familiar was standing by it with pen and pad raised in the traditional waitstaff pose. “I’m Aino, and I’ll be your waitress today.”

Tuuri tried desperately to remember something, anything, about the moments before whatever had happened to her, but nothing would come. Aino looked at her increasingly dubiously. “Did you want a drink, miss?”

The small device making that incredibly annoying noise at her bore very peculiar markings.

“Ah, is that a new phone?” Aino finally took matters--the phone, that is--into her own hands. Glancing down at the screen, she accepted the call and held the phone to the strange girl’s ear.

The voice in Tuuri’s ear was vaguely familiar, as with all her surroundings, and it bothered her immensely that she didn’t know it immediately. “You’re wasting time, Tuuri Hotakainen. In your bag should be all you need to reach where you need to be before the Incident occurs, but you must start off _now_. Meet the others at the airport in Oran.”

*

Emil stood at the door to his family home in Mora, wondering if he should knock. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t, but this was a dream (a noisy dream with all the odd, Old World machine and foot traffic around him), so knocking would probably be the right thing to do.

barkBarkBARK! A large, fluffy dog sprang through the door as it opened, almost knocking Emil over in an ecstasy of welcome. “Bosse! Get down, you rascal!” Stig Västerström stepped out from behind the door. Emil had stared at him in the family portrait often enough that he knew every crease and cranny of his face, so there was no mistaking him.

“I’m sorry about Bosse. He’s not usually that way.” There was a somewhat awkward silence occasioned by Emil continuing to stare at Stig, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. “Are you a relative of my wife, Ulrika, perhaps? You certainly have the look of her.”

Something in Emil’s hand began making noise and vibrating. One thing about Stig that Emil hadn’t known was how fast his reflexes were. Stig managed to block Emil’s Cleanser-training-driven arm before Emil could pitch the noisemaker away from the house, which turned out to be a very good thing.

*

Reynir stood at the front door to his family’s farmhouse, wondering if this was what dreaming was. The door opened, revealing an older, grayer version of Reynir. Neither spoke for a moment.

“I’m Reynir Arnason,” they both said in unison. “I’m sorry; you go ahead.”

What was shaping up to be a fine impromptu recreation of an old Vaudeville act was brutally cut off by the elder Reynir’s wife. “How may we help you, young man? Aren’t you one of our relatives?”

The younger Reynir was about to tangle his tongue around a convoluted attempt at an answer when his hand rang.

“Tell your friend his timing is off,” the elder Reynir and his wife laughed.

As Reynir put the phone to his ear, the world faded from his view, replaced with odd, shadowy figures. The two closest looked very familiar...


	3. He Who Remains

Lalli Hotakainen stood still and stayed silent as he leaned over the Well of Watching, well, watching. This, of course, was simply his way, as it had been since he was a child. The dim spectral image of his cousin Onni Hotakainen stood equally sphinx-like beside Lalli to his left; a confused but equally spectral Reynir to his right; and across from the three of them, propped on the edge of the Well by his forepaws... Puppy-Fox. Somehow, Lalli knew that they would all understand anything that was spoken while in this room, as far as languages went.

“I keep telling you that I’m not the villain here!” Puppy-Fox, that infamous trickster, exclaimed. “Come on! Who do you think placed the Aarnivalkea here for you to find, and who gave you the means to find it? I practically led you here by the hand! You make one stupid mistake when you’re younger and it brands you for life...”

“Be still, O Messenger,” a deep and resonant voice boomed from behind Puppy-Fox, who immediately looked abashed. A very, very, very old man slowly hobbled out of the swirling mists up to the Well. Oh, my. This was the Old Man Himself! “Be still. You have done your part, and done it well. Now, depart.”

“Without seeing the rest of the story?” Puppy-Fox whined. His ears had perked at the Old Man’s praise, but now his crest was well and truly fallen.

“I shall show it to you later,” the Old Man promised. As Puppy-Fox reluctantly slinked off, his departure unmourned by any of the mortals present, the Old Man looked at the boy and the two spirits flanking him. “So, Kin of Hotakainen from the Lake of Many Islands and Man of the Land of Burning Glaciers, you have finally come. The Bear was certain you would, but the Swan had his doubts. Now, it is time for you, and your distant friends, to take up the challenge We have set before you, for your own sake, and for the sake of two worlds: this one, and the one into which your friends have been dispatched. Fail, and this world will fall, and you shall never see your friends again. Succeed, and the Cleansing of the Silent Lands can begin in earnest.”

Lalli and Onni continued to regard the Old Man impassively, while Reynir gaped soundlessly. The Old Man gestured, and the Bear, the Great Spirit to whom this place had been dedicated and with whose motifs both room and Well were bedecked, stepped forward from the mists to continue the geas-giving. All the manifold carvings and images seemed to shimmer at the Bear’s approach, reflecting the presence of that of which they were mere shadows.

Power gathered round and thickened the air as the Bear spoke, his voice solemn as the grave, and with every word he spoke, the three could feel the binding grow upon them, for the Bear spoke thus:

“Hotakainen Mage called Lalli  
Unto you I make this promise

“Conquer now this Godly Challenge  
Save your sister world from grosslings  
And your own world will start healing  
Sloughing off the plague of Rash-kind

“Failure though must bring disaster  
Rash will spread through ev’ry plenum  
Darken all the worlds forever  
Bringing all to final ruin

“So I charge and I command thee  
Seven sent to slay the Silence.”

The Bear stepped back into the shadows, vanishing into the mists that had borne him there, but his runo-geas hovered in the silence of the room, lingering like the echoes of a deep and sonorous bell tolling out doom.

Finally, Lalli spoke. “What must we do, and how are we to do it?”

The Old Man replied, “How is up to you. I shall only tell the what, and that will take long enough. Your cohorts have been sent to another world, a close sister to this one, but a bit younger, and without the taint of Rash. They must stop the Rash from claiming that world as it has this one, and you must guide them as they do, Lalli. All else that you must know can be seen in the Well. Reynir, Walker through Dreams, your steps span two worlds now: it is you who must bring Lalli’s instructions to the others through the talk-box your body holds in the other world. Onni, strong and stalwart Defender of Keuruu, your charge is now to defend this place, for the Rash will soon know that your allies are working to its destruction, and its counter-stroke will fall like a great avalanche upon this place. Watch and ward, that your cousin may succeed.”

With that, the Old Man stepped back, slowly vanishing, and the three mortals knew there would be no more such speech until their victory or their failure. It seemed their talk had lasted ages; but then it seemed that they had not heard nearly enough. Lalli swallowed hard and looked deep into the Well, which obligingly cleared to show him...


	4. The Road to Perdition

Sigrun’s journey from Bergen had not gone terribly well. While she’d made the trip from Dalsnes on Gunnar’s boat (no, they still hadn’t fixed the road) just fine, the long-suffering flight staff had been forced to give Sigrun sedatives (the single strongest drink they could pour, with a little extra stuff thrown in for good measure) once the plane took off and she realized they were off-the-ground-what-devilry-is-this flying, but by the time she reached Oran, they’d worn off. She really had no idea how she’d been transferred at this “deGaulle Airport” place, but she assumed that it was better that way.

The lines, crowds, more lines and more crowds were beginning to get to her. At first, she’d been (more) able to tamp the instinctive agoraphobia of even an immune Y90 denizen down, but as she wove her way through the massive lines and crowds that characterized this era’s air travel, it kept gnawing at her more and more. There were just too many people all piled into this place, and every one seemed intent on jostling her. A few times, she’d had to give someone a Look (as opposed to a blow), which had generally scared the offender off, to her relief. These Old Timers weren’t the most courageous bunch, either.

The others were waiting for her by the “Baggage Claim” carousel-thing. Sigrun suppressed a shudder as she glanced at it again. These Old Time machines could be worse than any trolls, for with trolls at least you knew where they would and wouldn’t fit. The machines could be anywhere, though, and do just about anything, even (Sigrun suppressed another shudder) talk. It was just so... unnatural.

Tuuri, Mikkel, and Emil looked almost as overwhelmed by the noise, the press of the crowds, and the smells as she was beginning to feel. The four of them formed a visible knot of silent (and tall; even Tuuri was as tall as or taller than most of the local men) Norse-ness around which the more normal airport traffic, mostly Arabic, flowed.

The very first thing Sigrun did when she reached her comrades-in-arms surprised even her, however. As soon as she was in range, her arms seemed to reach out of their own accord to pull the other three into a relieved group hug, an embrace the others all fell into with the same mix of emotions as were running through her. They stayed that way for a blissful moment, but then broke apart.

“We have a ground car and a map of sorts,” Tuuri said. “The way it’s marked is kinda confusing, though, but Reynir said Lalli says not to show it to you until we’re in the car.”

“That is most wise,” Mikkel rumbled contemplatively. “In fact, we shouldn’t say anything more at all until then.” Sigrun flicked him a surprised glance and almost spoke, but for once thought better of it.

*

Reynir whistled tunelessly as he waited for the call. His great-great-grandparents were turning out to be really nice people, who seemed to totally buy his story about being from this place called “Canada” and “trying to find his Icelandic roots”. The calls he’d passed off as to and from various sources: work, family, friends. Of course, the fact that Reynir was willing to help out in exchange for his room and board, as well as the “probable family connection”, probably eased his path with them.

Finally, the phone rang.

“OK, um, it says here that you’re each supposed to have a... ‘cover story’? Weird. Anyway, Tuuri, you’re supposed to be a lawyer, Emil’s a corporate negotiator, Mikkel’s a doctor, and Sigrun is... it says here ‘muscle-slash-heavy’, which I don’t get either. Um. You’re meeting with this guy ‘Achhhhhhhhhmed’--” Reynir briefly broke into a coughing fit “--Sorry, something in my throat. Anyway, you meet with this ‘Achmed’ guy, he takes you to this place where they have a sample of the Rash--no, Tuuri, there’s nothing in here about how they got it in the first place. No, Lalli didn’t mention anything about that, but when--When I call them back, I’ll ask, but I don’t think they know either. Anyway, once you know it’s the Rash sample, you smile politely, fob ‘Achmed’ off, and blow the whole place to Jotunheim as soon as possible. Emil’s boom-boom kit got there OK, right? Oh, good. OK. Yes. Yes. Fine. Right, I’ll just call now and let you know once I know. Of course. ‘Bye.”


	5. Dis-covered, Dat-covered, All de Odder Covered

Out in the very middle of nowhere, a small guard shack stood, looking for all the world like some abandoned WWII or colonial relic, gatehouse to an otherwise vanished military base, dismantled and long since forgotten. Yet, if you tried to approach it from any direction other than the shabby track the locals called a highway, you’d soon find your way blocked by a rusty tangle of barbed wire, if you didn’t accidentally blow yourself up from a land mine. If you approached along the road, you’d be blissfully unaware of the muzzles tracking you unless they decided to open fire. This was the Installation, a place where Death in its various illicit forms was bought and sold by various illicit parties.

Leaning heavily against the blast door that blocked their way down into the Installation, Emil trembled, as well he might. He’d just made the horrible but inevitable discovery that normal humans were both much easier and yet infinitely more difficult to kill than any troll they’d yet faced.

“Emil!” Sigrun’s snap of command above the clanging alarms brought Emil back to the present. “Help me with Mikkel.” Obediently, Emil went over to where Mikkel lay by the outer door, an ugly-looking dart sticking out of the big man’s shoulder.

Meanwhile, Tuuri had seated herself at the control station of the guardroom and was pecking at the various controls. The alarms fell silent, and she muttered, “Huh. That’s odd.”

“At least whoever-he-was didn’t take the car,” Emil huffed as he and Sigrun slowly and painfully manhandled their incapacitated comrade into the vehicle.

“Guys? Guys!” Tuuri called. “I think you should see this!”

The other two crowded around the banks of monitors and controls, their eyes wide with amazement at this display of Old Time technology. “I think this board controls the whole security system,” Tuuri said in a hushed voice. “But why would they put it up here, instead of lower down?”

“So they could bring down the whole place if disaster struck.” Surprisingly, Emil was the one who made this observation, instead of Sigrun, who glanced at him in silent approval. “The Rash may be the worst horror here, but it’ll be far from the only one, unless I miss my guess--Oh, no. Get to the car.”

The girls looked at Emil blankly for a moment. When he shouted, “GET TO THE CAR!”, though, they both moved.

“How much time?” Sigrun grunted as they hurled themselves into the small sedan.

“Probably not enough--One, maybe two minutes at most.”

Sigrun smiled a smile utterly lacking in mirth. “So, our covers weren’t really blown, then. We just got here right when some flunky unleashed his Big Plan to steal the Rash and blow the Installation to cover his tracks, and he used our arrival to get by the topside guards.”

Mikkel murmured in assent, his eyes fluctuating between wide open and totally shut.

“Don’t worry,” Tuuri said confidently. “Reynir says Lalli’s tracking our target, so we’ll find him, no matter where he goes.”

*

As they drove off after their prey, the desert behind them lit brighter than the sun overhead for a few terrible seconds, and then the blast wave hit the little car with a sound none of them could ever describe after. Since they were rear-on to the blast, though, the car managed to stay on course and in one piece (as such), so when the tremors finally died, they were still steadily rolling down the road, driving into the next stage of their fate...


	6. Apocalypse Then

_Lalli looked deep into the Well of Watching, peering through the rippling, murky depths for a glimpse of their quarry. Suddenly, the veil lifted, and he saw..._

The girl woke up and tried to scream, but she was gagged, even as she was also bound where she lay. Above her loomed a blurred, sinister figure right out of some bad horror movie--but this wasn’t a movie, or a dream. Horror and despair washed over her.

Eventually, after a few eternities where she screamed and cried and strained against the bonds that held her fruitlessly, the man by her bedside spoke. “Are you quite finished?” Wide-eyed, she stared at him, her tear-soaked eyes unable to make out anything but the dark blur of his form.

“You’re wondering who I am, what I want, and why you’re here.” The peculiarly dead tones he spoke this in made her flesh crawl. “Be of good cheer; you are one of the Chosen. You have been given the gift of the Mark, and when you bear it unto the Unclean, it will wash your soul clean from the accreted corruption of your unholy lifestyle.”

He gestured, and she turned her head to follow it. “Behold, the other Chosen.” Her bed was at the head of a line of other beds. “You are the Twelfth and final Chosen, and once the Mark has hold of you fully, you shall go forth.” Animation began to color the voice.

“The Godless elevated all of the most perverted wretches in order to drag this world into the sewer of their making, and for too long, we have allowed it,” he stated. “When you, the Blessed Chosen, unleash the Mark, it will scour all that filth away, leaving the Remnant to resume our rightful place as Lords of the Earth.”

An uproar from the other end of the room interrupted him then. He left her side, and for a moment, she was even more afraid than when he’d stood there.

_Lalli’s heart screamed within him at the sight of the innocent, but Infected girl. Whatever happened after this, she was doomed. The view in the Well shifted to follow the head cultist as he moved to the side of the only bed in the room that was shrouded._

A troll, or at least one in embryo, lay in the bed, and the cultist smiled as he saw it. “Ah, my friend. Have you been contemplating the delicious irony that you, the infiltrator who aimed at the Remnant’s destruction, would instead become one of the Chosen, and the first Apotheosis, at that?”

Another cultist appeared after a moment or two of silence. “O My Master and O the Bringer of Light, your humble servant is honored to bring you the report of the Great Undertaking.”

“The servant may continue.”

“The route has been selected: there is a boat that makes runs to Spain that will accommodate the Chosen. We shall take it and land at the most visible and plausible place for such, with our operatives abandoning ship just before landfall. As for the Apotheosis,” the messenger shuddered, “a plane has been procured that we may drop it in Jerusalem, in the heart of the Sewer.”

“Excellent. The Apotheosis will wreak such havoc in the Sewer as has not been known for ages.”

_Lalli’s face grew grimmer. So they planned to free a troll--that thing they called the Apotheosis--in some unsuspecting city that it might infect and slaughter the populace, as well as sending the first Infected out to Spain. This demanded only one thing: more speed._

*

“Lalli says we have to hurry,” Tuuri said, her foot pushing the accelerator to the floor.

Sigrun frowned. “No time for subtlety, then. We’ll have to go in shooting. Emil, you’re our heavy hitter here. Be ready to blow a mountain away, if it comes to it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Emil replied. It was a measure of the dire situation that the prospect of burn-burn-BURN-fire did not appear to please him in the least.

“And Tuuri,” Sigrun paused significantly, “put your mask on.”

The little car sped for all it was worth toward the cultists’ lair...


	7. From All Sides Beset

“What, Tuuri? You need _what?_ I’m not getting you; it’s too noisy!”

Of course, Lalli had to chime in right then from the other world with, “Have Tuuri drive around the back; some of them are trying to get out that way!”

Reynir relayed the message, but the noise and confusion pouring out of the magic-talk-thing left him unsure whether Tuuri had actually understood him. His forebears had been kind enough to let him wander across the pastures until he was isolated enough to speak and act freely, and they had, despite their obvious inquisitiveness, put off interrogating him for now. It was very good, because speaking with Lalli and Onni tended to make this world vanish, overlaid as it were by the other.

*

They weren’t doing that bad, all things considering, Sigrun thought as she made her way into the compound, the bodies of her enemies marking her passage. She’d been able to one-shot most of these amateurs, thanks in part to Emil’s nice distractions around front, and in a few more minutes, she would storm the ward where these nut-jobs were making their Infected and--

A burst of gunfire raked her path, making her duck back. So, they were going to make a stand here, huh? Probably to buy time to get their Rash victims out the back. Well, Tuuri and Emil would have to handle that, unless--

*

Tuuri was yelling something in Reynir’s ear about something else he couldn’t quite get, but that was probably because of the gun pointed at him. “Fool of a Godless One,” its wielder said. “We are everywhere. Our Faithful had your phones traced before your friends left the Installation. Now, you will tell me everything you know, and I will kill you with a minimum of pain. Of course, each lie you try to tell me will add to your pre-mortem suffering. So, who--”

A shovel to the face will tend to silence even the most loquacious speaker, especially when wielded by a man used to the hard life of farming and ranching, as the elder Reynir was. His descendent looked at him in awe as he efficiently bound the cultist.

“Your friends need you,” was all the elder Reynir said before grabbing the bound cultist and dragging him off towards the farmhouse.

And they did.

*

Sigrun looked at the little thing Emil had given her. He’d warned her of its power, but it was the only shot left for her to clear the way to where she needed to be. Gritting her teeth, she twisted and tossed, just as Emil had told her to.

A Ka-THUM even bigger than the one that had brought down their first target took out her assailant, and probably anyone else in her way, as well. Once she was back on her feet, Sigrun rushed toward her goal, her ears still ringing.

*

“I can’t hold it any longer!” Onni screamed, real panic in his voice. The giant, sensing its victory was near after almost an hour of assaults, drew its probing limb back for one final blow against Onni’s feebly flickering wall-field.

Lalli threw Reynir a pole that had been leaning against the well. “Throw it!” he hissed at the confused red-headed specter, then began to chant.

“Warder’s weapon,  
Strong defender,

Once more serve to hold back evil,  
Fly now true and smite the wicked,  
Guided by the hand of Reynir,

As the runes you bear do foretell,  
Long laid down as fated for you.”

Closing his eyes, the spectral Reynir threw the spear, its runes glowing a bright blue in the chamber’s dimness, just as the giant lunged forward. The spear-tip plunged through what had been the bridge of a man’s nose once, and as it hit, another burst of blue leapt from the wound it made, flashing across the limb’s surface and out of sight, leaving an oddly-shaped statue of soot where pseudo-living flesh had been.

*

“Release the Apotheosis.”

“Is the Master certain? The sedatives managing the Apotheosis need time to wear off, and--”

“Release the Apotheosis from the rear door. If they take it on, we are free to move the rest of the Chosen. If they try to take us down, the Apotheosis will still bring the Mark into the world.”

The lead cultist squared his shoulders. “Whether any of us in this shard of the Remnant lives or dies is immaterial, as long as the Mark is released. Loose the Apotheosis, and ready the other Chosen for transport. I shall join the battle outside.” He punctuated this statement by cocking the weapon he’d been loading.

“As the Master commands.”

“Tend the Flames.”

“The Flames burn bright.”

The lead cultist went to the door...


	8. Running After

It _(Where am I am I dreaming)_ was free. The last time it _(Can’t think can’t sleep can’t stop)_ had tasted freedom, ten of the humans had been close by for it _(I’m sorry I can’t stop it I can’t stop me)_ to feast upon. Freedom was good.

The heat rose around it _(What is this what’s happening I don’t understand)_ like an oven, revivifying it _(I was so sick I can’t feel my legs am I dead)_ even as the light strove to kill it _(So much pain I just want to sleep why is this happening)_. They had given it _(No no no no no this is just a fever dream please let it be a fever dream)_ an umbrella as protection from the fiendish sun, but the reflections from everything else were still painful enough that it _(What am I how did this happen make it stop)_ needed to find a hole to shelter in. Thus it was that it _(I just want to go home why can’t I go home)_ scuttled across the fiery land in unconscious comedy, the umbrella whipping this way and that as a breeze caught it or its holder _(Someone please help me HELP ME)_ paused to test the ground.

*

This whole “vectoring-everyone-else-in” thing was getting frustrating for Lalli, especially as he had to go through Reynir, who, while enthusiastic and not actually that bad of a communicator, wasn’t Tuuri. He was starting to miss the others’ voices, even though their speech was gibberish. How weird. He glanced at the spectral form of Onni, wondering if he should try talking this over with his older, more experienced cousin, who had been more like a parent to him and to Tuuri after What Had Happened. Onni was looking back at him, and the two exchanged a wordless conversation that told Lalli all he needed to know.

The view in the Well shifted abruptly as the last of the cultists fell, moving from the ruins of their compound to a stretch of open ground where a single troll was trying to flee. Lalli was about to pass this along through Reynir to Turri and beyond when he saw Emil running up after it.

*

As Emil fired at the troll, trying to draw it to him, he saw the car swinging around behind it to cut it off. That was good, but Tuuri--

The car was gone.

Wait, what? Where could the car have gone? What happened to Tuuri and Mikkel? Emil was almost distracted enough to let the troll hit him, but not quite. The troll got his gun, though, but since Sigrun had snuck up on its blind side, it didn’t matter. What mattered, Emil thought as he jogged towards where the car had been, Sigrun swiftly following after setting the final carcass aflame, was--what had happened to their friends?

“Can you see them, Sigrun?” Emil stopped and looked back. He was alone.

The phone! But he didn’t speak Icelandic. Oh, my. Perhaps Reynir would know what he meant anyway?

*

Lalli had watched his friends vanish even as they vanquished the final troll. “Reynir?” he yelped. “What is happening?” But no one answered. Even Onni’s presence had vanished. A vortex formed in the Well of Watching...


	9. The Last Great Obstacle

Tuuri, Onni and Reynir huddled behind Sigrun and Emil, the solid bulk of Mikkel at their backs. The blank, featureless plain before them was filled with giants, mostly agglomerated beasts of all shapes and sizes, and every one of them was making for their little knot.

Lalli flashed into being right in front of them, and a voice erupted into speech, both voice and speech harsh and hideous.

“So, the Seven are assembled  
Ready now to meet the Monster!

So behold the Rash Incarnate  
Think you now to overthrow me?

Better foes than you have all failed!  
Come and strike! Your doom awaits you!”

As the speech went on, giant after giant stepped into a central pile and merged, blending together into an immense obscenity of gross, gross, gross-grossling beyond description. Once it had finished, it and its comparatively minuscule followers moved towards the seven once more.

Lalli stepped forward, his reed-thin frame ludicrously small against the obscenities approaching them. “Emil, Sigrun,” he said quietly, “I need for you to keep the little ones away from us. Don’t bother with the big one.” His eyes were shining with blue light. Sigrun nodded briskly and turned back to the oncoming horrors; Emil looked troubled briefly, but shrugged and also turned away.

“Reynir,” Onni said quietly, “shut your eyes and recite with us.”

His eyes wide, Reynir stammered, “B-b-but how will I know what to say?”

Onni looked deep into Reynir’s eyes. “You will know. Trust me.”

Lalli began to chant, Onni joining on the second line, Reynir on the third, and even Tuuri on the fourth:

“Captive souls by Rash corrupted  
Quicken once again to action  
Rise now at this call to vengeance

Turn upon your Rash tormentor  
Break its bonds and take your freedom  
Seek out your eternal respite  
Striking back at your oppressor

Now in concert we implore thee  
Overcome the foe’s enthralling  
And avenge yourselves upon it!”

Blue energy like a great wave flowed out from the little knot, swerving this way and that until it found the Rash Embodied, and began to suffuse it, illuminating the various individuals the Rash had forced into merging to form its being. As each was illuminated, they began to struggle, some more successfully than others, until the whole huge form was dissolving into a mass of individual people trying to escape that which had kept them enslaved to it for so long. A few, a very few even broke away completely, and began trying to help the others or attacking the still enslaved.

The other Rash bits were joining the main one now, trying to reestablish its/their dominance over the rebelling slaves by throwing ever more numbers at them, but this only allowed their own components to join the uprising. Soon, nothing was left standing but the seven, the freed souls leaping from their plague-riddled bodies as the power of the Rash simply ceased to be.

For a moment, no one moved, until Emil decided that the motionless heaps before them would look better if they were aflame. And he was quite right...


	10. Do Stories Ever Truly End?

They were all back in the Place of the Bear, Onni spectrally, the others in the flesh--and Reynir and Tuuri were wearing their masks now. “Hey!” Emil exclaimed suddenly. “Isn’t this the place we found just before--”

“Of course it is, Emil,” Lalli said, drawing stares from all but Reynir & Onni. “This is where our quest began, and this is where it ends.”

“Aptly put.”

The Old Man was looking at the confused mortals with a smile in his eyes as he stepped out of the fog. “Of course, your _story_ will go on; it’s barely begun, in fact. But this quest is ended, and ended in victory, as was foretold. Your sister-world and many others like it have been made safe from the Rash; it must suffice itself of those worlds it already holds, and that number will begin to shrink shortly, I believe.”

“What is the Rash, really?”

Now the Old Man was truly smiling. “That would be _telling,_ wouldn’t it?” He turned away. “If you leave now, you will be clear before this place collapses, and no harm will come to you. Farewell.”

Onni vanished abruptly, startling the others into motion. A low rumbling began in the depths beneath them as they filed back through the labyrinth of corridors that would lead them out, and the rumbling rose in intensity with every step they took.

Once they were out in the open, Sigrun shook her head. “Well, that was a bust. Even with all of us searching that museum place, we didn’t find anything.”

“Actually,” Tuuri piped up, “Lalli and I found a few really old scrolls. I put them in my sack, here.” She gingerly held it open to show the others.

“I still think bringing Tuuri and Reynir was a bad idea,” Mikkel said. “I know we had to this time, but we shouldn’t make a habit of it, for their sake.”

“I agree,” Sigrun surprised them by saying. She looked at Tuuri and continued, “If there had been the least little grossling in there, the two of you might have been infected, and then what would I have told Miss Taru?”

After a moment of silent thought, Lalli spoke. Emil couldn’t catch a word of it, but Tuuri was listening attentively. Emil gave himself a small shake. Why on earth would he half-expect to understand what Lalli was saying?

Tuuri spoke. “Lalli says he found another place that might be worth looking at, though he didn’t see it on our map.”

Sigrun shrugged. “Well, when we get back to the vehicle, he can show us where it is.” She stretched. “Is anyone else up for an early lunch?”

Firmly in agreement on this last, the band set off for their roving home...


End file.
